


What's Even Real?

by soon_er



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soon_er/pseuds/soon_er
Summary: Saihara knew Ouma wasn’t stupid; he must’ve known his true intentions. But he liked it when Saihara played dumb, right? He liked feeling in control--finally able to be better than someone. Maybe after years of being looked over and disregarded, Ouma finally wanted some semblance of authority.“I’ll die on national television, too, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than that.”
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki & Oma Kokichi, Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Saihara

“That’s unrealistic, huh?” Saihara muttered, grabbing another handful of popcorn and shoveling it into his mouth. The blood-curdling screams that amplified from the television were intriguing, but the dagger that stabbed through the woman’s heart more so caught his attention. There was something captivating about death, and while he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly it was, Saihara found myself unable to look away from the cheesy horror movie they were watching. Ah, he wasn’t alone, right. 

“Does it really matter, Saihara-chan? I mean, gore sells…” He had completely forgotten that Ouma, his friend since middle school, was even there. Yet again, he was pretty forgettable. The other’s demure demeanor was dull and Saihara would’ve dumped him long ago if not for the hidden malice behind that violet gaze.

It had become somewhat of a tradition, for them, every Saturday night, to watch some lame ass thriller movie. Especially now that the 52nd season of Danganronpa was over, everything seemed tedious; like every moment that passed was torturous. But that’s how it always was, right? During the short break between each season, Saihara felt ready to jump off the tallest bridge possible.

“Ah, I guess you’re right, Ouma, who would watch a thriller with no blood? That’d just be wrong...” He said, allowing a somewhat bright tone to fill his words. It was off-handed, though, for Saihara had almost no interest in his friend. Sure, Ouma was interesting *sometimes*, but he clung to Saihara desperately, wanting validation in a world that was bored of him

God, why couldn’t people just admit when they’re useless? He did. Saihara accepted his worthlessness--embraced it, even-- but Ouma, who searched for virtue, was incredibly annoying. There was silence between them as they glanced at the screen in front of them. The killer wiped his weapon clean, removing the god-awful mask that he wore. Behind it was no other than the initial victim’s father. Saihara could almost laugh at the predictability of it all, and how the story’s development was almost as insipid as life itself.

“Hey, Saihara-chan?” Ouma asked, voice somewhat softer than before,” Why were you talking with Momota earlier today?” Ah, was he jealous? Ouma was terrible at hiding his affection towards Saihara, and he somehow allowed these feelings to grow despite his knowledge of them. While Momota’s aggressive attitude was excessively hot, there was no romantic connection between them. Even so, teasing the other was far too fun of an opportunity to let pass.

“Well, he said I’d look pretty with his cum on my face,” Saihara began, the first bit being a bold-faced lie,” But I’m saving my virginity for my Danganronpa audition, remember? So--”

“What do you mean, you can’t--”

“Well they let that one girl flash her tits last season, didn’t they?”

“S-Saihara-chan, on national television?” Ouma’s tone was exasperated, and their eyes met,” You can’t expose yourself like that...in front of so many people…”

“Why not?” He said, feigning innocence. Ouma wasn’t stupid; he must’ve known Saihara's true intentions. But Ouma liked it when he played dumb, right? He liked feeling in control--finally able to be better than someone. Maybe after years of being looked over and disregarded, Ouma finally wanted some semblance of authority.

“I’ll die on national television, too, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than that.” Ouma frowned upon hearing his words. Saihara allowed a breathy chuckle to escape his lips, leaning towards the other ever so slightly.

_ Fine. I’ll play into Ouma’s fantasy; let him win. Maybe then, I could feel something. Maybe then, he’d stop whining.  _

Saihara’s head soon rested on the other's small, warm chest. He felt Ouma tense, likely unsure of what to do. The seconds passed slowly, and after a moment, Saihara felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer.

“W-what are you doing?” Ouma asked, voice almost defeated. Saihara figured Ouma was done with the constant playing. He wanted something real? Ha, as if.

“What does it look like…?” He said, allowing seconds to pass. How long had it been? Was the movie already over? The credits had started, and an ominous melody played. 

“I love you.” 


	2. Ouma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great. He was alone. Again. Ouma knew this meant that Saihara was likely simping for someone who would only use him. Only hurt him. Why did Saihara like those people? Why not him? He was frustrated, but the ‘x’ at the end of the message managed to make his face flush. He really was desperate, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning: mention of rape (no rape actually happens, though)**

Ouma found it hard to pay attention in class. Who could blame him? There was so much to think about; so much to imagine. Despite his diffident attitude, the male despised a majority of his peers. They went from tormenting him to not even acknowledging his existence; how unfair? Ouma fantasized about making them stare, breaking their bones, watching as the surrounding skin bruised a dark purple--

“You’ll be doing the project in groups,” His blood went cold upon hearing the teacher’s words. Groups? Ouma inhaled shallowly, dreading having to socialize with his fellow students. Classes were typically a safe haven; where he seldom had to talk with anyone. While the male was far from anti-social, it made him somewhat nervous. 

The teacher read off names, and he waited with bated breath to be addressed. Damn, why did he have to be so pathetic? No matter how much he tried to be brave, it seemed impossible…

“Ouma Kokichi, Harukawa Maki, Momota Kaito, Akamatsu Kaede,” ...Huh? He was unlucky; incredibly so. Ouma looked behind him, meeting Akamatsu’s gaze as she rolled her eyes.

***

“What are you, fuckin’ stupid? Just answer the damn question, you useless whore.”

“Fuck you, Momota. At least I have public decency.”

“Shit, public decency? Bitches like you get raped.”

“Is that a threat? Y’know, one of these days, I’ll fucking kill you.” 

This was usual. It was common knowledge that Momota and Harukawa hated each other, and almost every argument they had was the taller male’s fault. Ouma had never before wanted to jump out of a window as much as he currently did.

“We get it, Momota’s an asshole, Harukawa’s a slut… can we just finish the project already?” Akamatsu’s voice was cold, bordering on aggressive. She appeared to be already halfway done with her questionnaire; same as Ouma. Momota hadn’t written anything down--At all--and Harukawa had only a few questions answered.

“He’s worse than an asshole! Did you hear what he just--”

“We get it, you’re obsessed with me,” Ouma found himself deeply annoyed by the shit-eating grin painting Momota’s features, and resisted the urge to slap it off his face. If he did that, he’d definitely be killed. 

Harukawa opened her mouth to respond, but Akamatsu beat her to it.

“You’re both stupid as hell, so fuck around on your own time.” 

“Haru-slut wishes she could--”

“Shut the fuck up--”   
  


“Can you guys just be quiet already?” The words came out almost involuntarily, and Ouma immediately regretted them,” I-I mean..w-we should focus on the project…” He cringed as three pairs of eyes fell on him. A slight silence persisted between them before Momota barked out a harsh laugh.

“Tryna be outspoken, huh? What’s your name again?” Momota’s tone was mockingly pleasant.

“O-Ouma…” His voice shook slightly, his heart seeming to beat too fast,” K-Kokichi Ouma…” 

Harukawa shot Momota a glare,” Leave him alone--”

“Damn, this is a fuckin’ circus,” Momota muttered,” I’m not doing any of this shit, y’ know,” He paused momentarily,” Hey, Ouma, wanna finish this for me?” 

Ouma had a feeling that he didn’t have much of a choice, and nodded shyly.

***

Ouma, even hours later, was angry. He hated Momota; his annoying voice, his idiotic disposition… While he had some sense of integrity and was far too cowardly to commit murder, the idea of Momota’s guts spilling out onto the sidewalk was oddly enticing. He sighed softly… Saihara would be able to make him feel better. Speaking of Saihara, where was he? 

As if on cue, his phone buzzed.

‘Too busy to walk home with u, cya tomorrow x’

Great. He was alone. Again. Ouma knew this meant that Saihara was likely simping for someone who would only use him. Only hurt him. Why did Saihara like those people? Why not him? He was frustrated, but the ‘x’ at the end of the message managed to make his face flush. He really was desperate, huh?

Ouma hated Saihara, too, for teasing him; for constantly giving him hope for romance. He wanted to embarrass him too; make Saihara desperate for his touch. Despite this, Ouma knew things would never change between them. He would keep hopelessly pining, and Saihara would continue to lead him on. That’s just how pathetic he was.

The setting sun cast an orange light across the area, and it eased Ouma somewhat. He walked down the starkly empty street, allowing his mind to drift. The sound of his shoes making contact with the pavement was grounding; constant. 

“Ouma!” The voice was familiar, and he inwardly groaned. Whatever. He’d talk; play nice. He wasn’t brave enough to do anything else.

“Harukawa-san…” Ouma turned around, allowing a soft smile to paint his features,” I-is everything okay?” She was in front of him now, offering a sheepish look.

“Momota’s a dick. Akamatsu, too. You seem cool, though,” He felt his cheeks warm at that statement,” So.. I just want you to know that... you can rely on me.” Harukawa fiddled nervously with one of her long pigtails, averting her gaze. Cool? No one had ever called him… cool before.

What was he supposed to do? Thank her? Return the favor? What if she was lying, feigning an illusion of kindness to expose his vulnerabilities? How long had passed? Damn, this was awkward.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her words were terse, and Ouma felt relieved.

She paused for a second longer before speaking once again.

“I’m walking this way. Feel free to join me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know these chapters aren't very long, but length will vary depending on my mood. 
> 
> Also, don't worry, there is an actual plot... like shit will happen eventrually. Feedback is appreciated (both positive and negative) !!


	3. Momota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it worth it? Being stranded, a definite, lonely death awaited him. Momota felt like that. As if the oxygen was fading, and he was unable to breathe. There was no one to call out to, and he was left. Alone. As always.
> 
> It had been thrilling, right? Being free of the Earth, able to see the universe. He wanted that; freedom. Freedom from the crushing isolation that threatened suffocate him daily. 
> 
> Maybe if he was rich, maybe if he had money, he wouldn’t have to worry about what was impossible anymore. 
> 
> Maybe then, he could be free; finally able to cut his ties with the past.

Momota slammed the door of his apartment closed. The sound echoed, only to be followed by a persisting silence; an abrupt reminder that he was alone. Unloved. Forgotten. Damnit, when did he become such a fucking emo?

Though he tried to fight it, loneliness lingered within his chest, asphyxiating him. His parents were dead. His grandparents, who had raised him, were so dementia-ridden that they could no longer even recall his name. Visiting them in that communal home was far too painful.

He sighed softly, slipping off his shoes as he removed his blazer. School uniforms were shit. Why pretend you’re formal and collected when you can barely manage to keep it together? 

Momota checked his phone; 7:30 pm… Was it really that late already? He lived off his parents’ social security money, and it was tough sometimes. While he hated depending on people and was more than capable of handling everything himself, life felt empty. He didn’t have time to make connections with others, especially when he could be filling the holes in his heart with money and sex. 

Maybe if he was rich, with fancy cars and giant mansions, he wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe then, life would be vibrant; exciting. Momota set the take-out he had picked up on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch. The plastic bags and styrofoam boxes prompted stark thoughts of everything wrong with his life; his loneliness, his aggressions… 

Hurting people was fun. Seeing the color drain from their complexion, watching as insecurity filled their gaze under his scrutiny; it made Momota feel alive. He was selfish. That was obvious, but it didn’t matter how other people felt; why would it? Living for anyone but yourself was useless, for when it really counted, you couldn’t rely on them. Not truly.

After he turned on the television, it flickered for a moment. An image appeared on the screen; two astronauts, abandoned in space. Scratch that, one of them was dead, floating limply throughout the spaceship. Momota found himself somewhat captivated by the drive of the surviving astronaut. He remained focused despite the death of his companion and did his best to remain calm. 

Was it worth it? Being stranded, a definite, lonely death awaited him. Momota felt like that. As if the oxygen was fading, and he was unable to breathe. There was no one to call out to, and he was left. Alone. As always. 

It had been thrilling, right? Being free of the Earth, able to see the universe. He wanted that; freedom. Freedom from the crushing isolation that threatened suffocate him daily. 

Maybe if he was rich, maybe if he had money, he wouldn’t have to worry about what was impossible anymore. 

Maybe then, he could be free; finally able to cut his ties with the past.

***

“...Well, Hinata-kun ended the 2nd killing game by ‘creating ‘ a new future,” Saihara explained, but Momota was barely paying attention,” They ended the simulation and--” 

“Shut up,” Momota remarked coldly. Even so, in comparison to how he treated everyone else, his behavior towards the other was rather tame. Perhaps it’s cause the kid took time to spend with him, and despite Momota’s harsh words, he always seemed to stick around. While annoying, Saihara’s pestering was one of the only constants in his life.

Saihara obeyed; grabbing his cellphone to quickly send a text. Momota wasn’t particularly interested in the lives of his classmates. Yeah, some of them were somewhat fascinating, but why would he give a fuck? 

Momota hated silence. It was stifling; maddening; familiar. A subtle wind blew softly around them, and the sun was nearly set. Saihara’s phone was put away now, and the shorter male was glancing ever so slightly in his direction. 

“Jesus, you really do always listen to me, don’t you?” Momota said, exasperated,” You’re like a fucking dog.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Fuck no.” 

Insulting Saihara hit differently. He never got upset or humiliated; it was almost as if he enjoyed it. Sometimes Saihara felt fake, not in the insulting way Akamatsu was, but more so as if the male didn’t even know who he himself was. 

“Ah, Momota-kun,” A small, somewhat unsettling smile painted the bluenette’s lips,” We should audition for Danganronpa together. Wouldn’t that be fun?” A slight flush appeared on Saihara’s cheeks; almost as if just mentioning the killing game gave him a hard-on. 

“Why would I?” He responded, a rhetorical question,” I’m not a lunatic; I have better things to do.” 

“Do you really?” Saihara questioned, his gaze growing somewhat intense, “Don’t you want Fame? Fortune? The thrill of it?” 

Momota thought back to the astronaut from last night’s movie. Stranded. Alone.

Free.

“How much money?” 

“If you win? About two million.”

“Fine,” Momota said with a confident simper,” But if you win, I get your money too, okay?”

“Of course, Momota-kun,” Saihara’s voice was enthusiastic. But all Momota could think of was how that money could benefit him; make him feel whole. And all he had to do was kill somebody? Easy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not that confident about this chapter, but I finished it. I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	4. Harukawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop playing hard to get, you like it when I’m mean to you, right?”
> 
> Harukawa scoffed,” Looks like you really are a narcissist, Momota.”
> 
> He shrugged in response, posture remaining relaxed,” Yeah. Problem?”
> 
> She didn’t respond. There was no need to. If Momota wanted to be an arrogant prick that was his business.
> 
> “Where are we going?”
> 
> “To kill someone.”
> 
> She glanced at him, and the faint smirk that painted his lips.
> 
> “Shut up.”
> 
> “Bitch.”

Harukawa was going crazy. She sat on the ground, for Akamatsu was determined to not let any of them sit upon her furniture. She glanced at Ouma, who was sitting beside her as Momota and Akamatsu’s argument ensued. His violet irises echoed her want of death.

“Jesus, bitch, I’m not dirty or anything.”

“Really? You smell like shit so just get off--”

“It’s almost like you *want* me to leave.”

“It’s not like you’re doing any work anyway, useless asshole.”

Momota paused for a moment, a mocking simper painting his features,” Nah, I’ll stay right here.” He leaned back onto the white sheets, and Akamatsu looked ready to commit murder. 

God, they were so insufferable. 

Soft piano music played from the bright pink speaker, juxtaposing strongly with their aggression. None of them wanted to be here, duh, but why couldn’t the two of them just be mature? She sighed, glancing down at the poster board, which was placed between Ouma and herself.

Akamatsu rolled her eyes, visibly seething, but deciding that she could do nothing to stop the muscular, six-foot teen from laying on her bed.

“Ew, that looks fucking ugly,” She sneered, glancing toward the half-finished project.

“Well maybe if you helped, you’d have a say on the design, Akamatsu-san,” Harukawa said, somewhat passive-aggressively.

“Bitch.” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Really? A bitch? Wow, coming from the biggest bitch of the century herself, it meant nothing. 

“A-anyway,” Ouma cleared his throat, flinching subtly when two pairs of eyes landed on him,” Who’ll present?”

Oh yeah, that was something they had to do. Hrukawa had been so hyper-focused on the work itself, she had completely forgotten about that part. While the idea of standing before her classmates was only somewhat unnerving, she figured she wouldn’t be chosen. She had done almost all the research, after all.

“Momota,” Akamatsu said simply, voice harsh,” You’re doing it.”

“What if I fail on purpose? Do you really trust me that much?” 

Harukawa scowled; that was true. Momota was a scumbag, willing to stoop to any level for his own satisfaction. 

“You can’t really be *that* stupid,” The blonde responded, visibly bewildered; her eyes filled with understandable disgust.

Harukawa glared at him, despite the fact that his focus remained on his cellphone,” If we fail this, we won’t pass the class--”

“Then someone else do it.” 

Akamatsu’s eyes traveled to her, and Harukawa glanced over at Ouma, hoping that he would defend her.

He didn’t.

Damnit, looks like she had yet another responsibility. 

***

“You’re coming, right?” 

Harukawa blinked, regaining focus. She must’ve blanked out, and Yonaga’s intense gaze was focused on her.

“What?” She managed, leaning against the table. The cafeteria was noisy, and Harukawa wanted nothing more but to leave. Even so, she had a social life to maintain.

“The party? Atua said that we should go together. You have a car, right?” While Yonaga’s words were optimistic, she knew what they meant; be my sober driver or you’re out, destined for the life of a social outcast. The other was like that, constantly using her god to justify bitchy behavior. 

“Nyeh, Harukawa’s driving?” 

She didn’t want to; she really didn’t…

“Yeah, of course, I will.”

***

  
She felt deserted. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Parties were not her scene, and all of Harukawa’s friends had disappeared. 

_Together._

Yonaga had said they would go together, so where the hell was she? 

Harukawa was nothing without her friends; without their validation. She did everything they asked, and this is how they repay her? 

As the music blared, Harukawa was tempted to leave. To desert those bitches, so they knew what rejection felt like. But that wasn’t feasible, not really, because if she did that, she would be truly abandoned. And even being their tool was better than being alone.

The bright red, plastic cup in her hand was filled with nothing but water. It was almost like that of a cliche, something she had seen in some cheesy American movie; students being obnoxious, drinking from cups identical to the one Harukawa held.

She could smell the ever so familiar scent of teenage body odor and tequila, making her visibly cringe. She checked her phone. It was dead. Great.

Harukawa realized she couldn’t do this; the walls of the large house were suffocating. 

Despite her relatively small stature, the brunette had no trouble pushing through the crowd.

Aggressive;

She wasn’t like that. Harukawa just did what she had to. Nothing more.

Disgusting;

No, that wasn't true. It was okay.

Alone;

She bumped into the back of someone, being push to her right by another. 

Stuck;

Finally reaching the open doors of the house, and stepping out into the front yard, Harukawa felt relieved. Harukawa exhaled a breath, leaning against the wall beside the door.

“Did you finally die?”

  
Momota. Ugh. 

Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.

“Hey, Haru-slut. You good?”

“I’m surprised you’re sober.” She said, and he simply laughed.

“You always believe in me,” Momota said, mockingly,” don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes, averting her gaze from the other,” I think I’d rather die.”

There was a slight silence between them.

”Wanna head out?” 

“Excuse me?”

“You look about ready to kill yourself, let’s go.” 

He was right, she didn’t want to be here. At all. But still, why would she even willingly spend time with Momota? And if she left, wouldn’t Yonaga be disappointed and--

"I'd rather stick my head in a blender."

“Fine, whatever,” he said simply, turning around and beginning to walk away.

Harukawa watched as Momota trekked down the pavement of the sidewalk. 

“Wait!” She called out, nearly tripping down the steps of the house,” I’m coming!”

“Wow, you really are predictable, Harukawa.”

***

During the time they had walked down the sidewalk, side by side, Momota had barely looked up from his phone once. Not that she minded. As long as he wasn’t calling her names, Harukawa was satisfied. 

“I have a car.” She said, side-eyeing the other.

“Don’t need it,” He spoke simply, returning his phone to the pocket of his jacket,” bet you’re a shit driver, anyway.”

  
“Ha. Funny.”

“Stop playing hard to get, you like it when I’m mean to you, right?”

Harukawa scoffed,” Looks like you really are a narcissist, Momota.”

He shrugged in response, posture remaining relaxed,” Yeah. Problem?”

She didn’t respond. There was no need to. If Momota wanted to be an arrogant prick that was his business.

“Where are we going?”

“To kill someone.”

She glanced at him, and the faint smirk that painted his lips.

“Shut up.”

“Bitch.”

They were outside of an apartment building now, in an area of town Harukawa was unfamiliar with. The taller of the two stopped walking, and she stood beside him. 

“Damnit,” Momota cursed, grabbing his phone,” Where the fuck is he?”

“What are you talking about? Who--”

“Shh.” He shushed her simply, making Harukawa’s blood boil.

Before she could respond, though, he dialed a number into his cellphone, putting it to his ear.

“Dude, what the fuck? I texted you like ten minutes ago.”

Harukawa tried to listen in, leaning ever so slightly closer but was unable to discern anything beyond a muffled voice on the other line.

“I bet you were jacking off, huh?” Momota’s condescending tone was irritating,” Jesus, I don’t give a fuck what you were doing. Just get down here before I go and kick your ass.” 

After a moment of the other person spoke for a brief moment, their words still unintelligible, Momota scoffed.

“Whatever, just hurry up. You did promise to be my sidekick, right?” He hung up, not giving whoever was on the other line a chance to respond. 

  
Sidekick? What the fuck? 

“Who was that?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you being so vague?”

“You look stupid when you’re confused,” Momota said,” it’s kinda funny.”

“Wow. You’re such a gentleman.”

“Whatever. Being polite's hella boring, anyway.”

The door of the building opened suddenly, and Harukawa recognized the male who walked towards them immediately.

Shuichi Saihara.

She had seldom spoken with him before, but she knew he was quiet. Weren’t he and Ouma friends? Ouma wouldn’t hang out with someone horrible, right? But someone decent wouldn’t be at Momota’s beckoned call, either.

“Ah, sorry Momota-kun I--”

“Don’t care. Let’s just go, you brought it, right?”

“Of course, I’m not *that* useless that I’d forget to bring the--”

“Shut up. You’re talking too much.”

Saihara listened, ceasing to speak. Though, he did shoot Harukawa a curious glance.

“Momota, tell me where the fuck we’re going.” She said, voice somewhat demanding.

“Training.” He said simply, and Harukawa was sure he got some sick pleasure from her apparent uneasiness.

“Training? for what?”

“To defeat your enemy.” 

“My--what?” 

  
He barked out a laugh,” Jesus, you’re so gullible. What did you think this was, a fucking superhero movie?”

“Momota-kun, go easy on her. It’s her first time, right?”

“It’s really not a big deal. I bet her reaction will be priceless, though.”

“But what if she calls the cops--”

“I’ll kill her, then.” 

Those words sent chills down Harukawa’s spine, and she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. But she wasn’t even sure where they were, and let alone how to get home, so leaving their presence was useless.

They were walking towards the beach. Harukawa didn’t visit it very often, no one did, it was rocky and unpleasant.

She felt the jagged stones against the soles of her shoes and looked over at the others wearily. Momota appeared relaxed, hands in his pockets. Saihara, though, seemed to be struggling to retain balance on the rough terrain. 

It felt like an eternity before they made a sharp left, walking through a seemingly endless cave. Where… were they headed? What was that awful smell? 

All of her sense told her to leave; that she was being stupid, like the protagonist of a horror movie. Even so, she kept moving forward, more out of curiosity than anything else. 

“Momota-kun, are you sure--”

“‘Course I am. Y’ know, sidekicks aren’t supposed to question their heroes.” Momota responded harshly, kicking a loose rock and sending it flying.

The silence was eerie, only broken by the sound of their steps. 

Forward.

Farther.

Closer.

If it wasn’t for the light radiating from Saihara’s cellphone, they would be completely blind.

Her lungs were burning, and something smelled rotten. The air was musty and cold, and Harukawa shivered slightly. 

She could hear the sound of Momota’s breathing, for he was in close proximity, right beside her.

“Are we almost there?” Harukawa asked, for her legs were beginning to burn.

“Yeah,” Momota said simply,” Almost.”

Almost.

That was good enough.

That was...okay.

She felt Momota halt beside her, and Harukawa looked at him. The smell was nearly unbearable now, and the other’s features appeared somewhat deranged.

She was scared.

“Momota-kun, are you sure? Should I--”

“Dude, don’t be fucking party pooper.”

“What are you guys talking… about…”

As the light reflected upon the walls of the cavern, Harukawa felt sick. She wanted to throw up. 

Did they do this? What--why?

...

She ran.

***

The air was cold, and Harukawa’s gaze was on the pavement in front of her. Saihara walked beside her quietly. Momota had left after seeing her reaction. After getting a laugh out of it.

What a dick

She couldn’t help but think back to before…

before… when…

“Harukawa-san?” He spoke softly, and she didn’t respond,” I hope you understand. I can explain it to you if you want.”

“Understand?” She looked up, meeting his grey-gold irises,” What could you possibly say to explain--that?”

“We didn’t kill all of them,” He responded hurriedly,” At least I don’t think so...” His voice trailed off, and Harukawa was disgusted. How did that justify anything?

“So what, you guys are fucking serial killers?”

“N-no, he only kills animals!” Saihara spoke as if that was normal; as if that was a viable defense,” Just think about it, okay? Strays have no future, they’re going to die alone, anyway, so why not?”

Harukawa felt sick again. Was this guy serious?

“And logically, the same goes for humans too, right?”

What? He couldn’t mean--

“Take me for example; no family barely any friends… No one would be sad if I died, I’d make the perfect victim!” His voice grew cheerful, juxtaposing greatly with the fact that he was discussing his own fucking murder.

“So your saying… killing lonely people is okay?”

“Yeah, I’d let Momota-kun kill me, and I’d probably enjoy it, too.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Really?” 

“You can’t tell?”

“I guess not.”

The silence persisted for a moment longer, and Harukawa fought the urge to yell; to call the police.

_“I’ll kill her, then.”_

She grimaced, unable to shake the image from her mind; of a variety of animals, their dismembered body parts lining the walls and floors of the cavern.

“Don’t think too hard about it yet, okay?”

Yet?

“I’ll see you in class Monday. Goodnight, Harukawa-san.”

Silence.

It was suffocating.

Harukawa didn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get the band back together *sweats nervously*


End file.
